


Thunderstruck

by SupernaturalTardis



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-25 14:24:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/954168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupernaturalTardis/pseuds/SupernaturalTardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean are on their way to a job in Gary, Indiana when they stop for the night at a dump of a motel. Exhausted from the first trial, the brothers don't realize that someone has been stalking them on their trip, waiting for the right moment to attack. Will a chance to live out their boyhood fantasies be all that they dreamed, or is there something more sinister in the works?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Motel Room Worse than a Crime Scene

Dean turned the key in the lock, grimacing slightly as he took in the decor framed by the grimy doorway. Peeling wallpaper, more than one cobweb hanging from the ceiling, and a large dent in the plaster of the opposite wall greeted him as he stepped inside, making room for the hulking form of his brother to step through before he shut the door behind them. 

“You really know how to pick them, Sammy,” said Dean as he contemplated the dilapidated twin mattresses on the not-quite-sturdy wooden frames that took up the majority of the space in their room. 

“Oh come on, Dean. Not all rooms we stay in are going to have beds with the magic fingers. You need to accept that,” Sam said, placing his laptop case gingerly on the wobbly, ancient-looking table shoved against the far wall to give a narrow pathway to the bathroom. 

“Yeah, but not many of the places we stay in look worse than the majority of the crime scenes we investigate,” said Dean, peering at a mysterious stain on the green shag carpet right in front of the bathroom door. “Look, I think a shapeshifter left us a present right here.” 

“It’s only for one night, Dean. A few hours tops, and then we can get back on the road to Gary, Indiana, and try and find out what’s causing all those deaths,” said Sam, shutting his eyes and gripping the crooked chair in front of the table. Dean, who had been silently trying to get up the courage to peek into the bathroom, looked over as his brother’s voice quavered. Once he saw his brother’s stance he forgot all about the bathroom and peered over at him with concern. 

“You okay, Sammy?” Dean gripped the doorframe, trying to keep himself from rushing over there to help. Even as the words left his mouth, he knew Sam would pass it off as if everything was alright, just as he had for the past several weeks. He had known something was up with his brother ever since the end of the first trial, but until Sam was willing to be honest about it, there was nothing he could do but wait. 

“Yeah, fine. Just a little headache,” said Sam, absentmindedly rubbing his temple with the tips of his long fingers. 

“You sure?” Dean asked, caught between giving Sam some space and his natural instinct to take care of his little bro. 

“I said I was fine, Dean,” said Sam in a steely tone, looking up to glare at his brother. 

“Well clearly you’re,” began Dean, unable to keep himself from speaking up again. Midway through his sentence, however, he decided to drop it. He was tired of fighting with his brother. “Just fine.” 

“Why don’t you go on a quick beer and food run? I’ll stay here and try to see what I can dig up.”

“Yeah, okay,” said Dean. At the doorway he took one moment to really look at his brother as Sam sat down at the table and opened up his laptop. He looked pale and tired, there were deep canyons of inky blackness under his eyes, and even his posture seemed slumped. Dean’s lips tightened for a second as he registered all of these things, but when Sam looked up he gave him a tight-lipped smile and closed the door behind him, jiggling the keys in his pockets as he approached his baby. Dean couldn’t wait until the trials were over, then everything would be back to normal.

 

Even though he had only been gone for a half hour, the lights were out and Sam was in bed when Dean returned with their food and the beer. Dean debated about whether or not he should wake his brother to announce that the food was here, but decided that it would be better for Sam to get some sleep. He set the greasy bag of fast food on the end of the table, put the beers and Sam’s salad in a fridge that he was shocked to find in decent, working condition, and sat in the threadbare armchair to the right of his bed. He spent a brief moment wondering where Castiel was before he banished all thoughts of the elusive angel from his mind and dug into his cheeseburger. Mmm, nothing like a well-cooked burger smothered in cheese. 

After he had tucked away a couple of burgers, a carton of fries, two beers, and of course, a slice of pie, Dean slouched in his chair and rubbed his full stomach. Content now with his hunger satisfied, Dean became drowsy, but it took until he shook himself awake twice for him to finally decide to go to bed. Looking over at the alarm clock disgusted him. Only 10:30 and he couldn’t keep his eyelids open. There must be something wrong with him. 

As Dean closed his eyes and started to drift away, he didn’t catch the sound of a quiet chuckle breaking through the silence of their motel room.


	2. NaNa NaNa NaNa NaNa Dean Winchester

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this chapter! Please let me know what you think about it!

A shaft of sunlight fell across Dean’s stubble-shadowed face. He groaned and grabbed a pillow to shove over his eyes, attempting to fight the impulse to rise and get out of bed for a few more hours. His surprisingly long eyelashes fluttered against the silky pillowcase as he started to drift back to sleep. Mmmm, he thought drowsily as he sank deeper into the soft mattress. This must be the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in. Dean relaxed for a few more minutes before his slightly-roused brain started to sense that something was definitely not right! The events of the previous night came back to him, and he remembered going to sleep in one of the most disgusting motel rooms he’d ever set foot in, which meant that he definitely should not be wrapped up in silky sheets at the moment! Dean immediately threw the pillow away from his eyes, shoved the silky sheets from his body, and leaped out of the bed, smashing his shin against the solid mahogany nightstand in the process. 

“Dammit!” he growled in a voice made extra gravelly from sleep, rubbing his shin where an angry red mark appeared, marring his usually flawless skin. 

“Finally awake then, Master Bruce?” called an amused British voice from the wall. His first thought when he heard the voice was of Crowley. Dean whirled around, patting his sides to find a weapon of any kind and coming up empty, to see that the voice came from a white digital intercom mounted on the wall near a door. “Your breakfast will be ready in the dining room whenever you’re finished with your morning activities.”

Dean rubbed his tired eyes with his hand and peered at the room around him. Behind him was the king sized bed with black silk sheets raised on a sleek, modern black platform bed frame. The walls were painted a pale grey color, the floor was all shiny dark wood except for a plushy white rug with black and grey flecks in it that bordered the bed, and other than the bed the room was sparsely furnished. There was just a solid mahogany night stand on either side of the bed and a massive dark wooden armoire to the right of the bed. The most unique feature was a large floor-to-ceiling curtain that covered almost all of the wall opposite the bed. Dean walked over to the curtain and drew a side of it back, revealing a stunning view of the secluded cliff face the house rested on, as well as a brilliant cityscape off in the distance. Where the hell was he? And for that matter, where the hell was –

“Sammy!” Dean yelled into the empty bedroom. 

He took only a second to sweep the room once again with his green eyes before he concluded that his brother was definitely not in there with him. Dean was just about to storm across the room and pull the door off of its hinges and find whoever spoke to him through the intercom system and grab them by the collar and demand that they tell him what the hell they had done to his brother when he registered the sound of a shower running nearby. He crossed the room in two seconds and yanked the door to the bathroom open so hard that the handle banged loudly against the wall. 

“Sammy,” he called as he entered the steamy bathroom. As soon as he stepped inside he felt a wave of hot moisture coat him. “Geez Sam, shower hot enough for you?”  
Through tendrils of steam Dean could just make out the features of the luxurious bathroom. White granite countertops with flecks of grey and black flanked the left wall, complete with two rounded bowl sinks resting on the surface of the granite side-by-side. A large shower was right in front of him. He could just barely see an oversized showerhead pouring a large stream of water down onto a dark head through the fogged-up side of the all-glass shower at the same time that a stream of water fell from the ceiling like a waterfall. To his right was a massive Jacuzzi with tons of jets, and beside that was a wooden door, which must lead to the toilet. All in all, if the Winchesters had to pay for staying in a place like this, they were screwed. 

“Sam! You in there?” shouted Dean over the noise of the shower. 

“I can’t believe you don’t remember my name,” cried a high-pitched voice as the shower cut off. Definitely not Sam, unless Sam happened to be going through puberty again. The shower door opened a crack and a slender arm reached for the towel hanging on a rack right outside the door. The door closed again for a second, reopened, and then a gorgeous, leggy brunette stalked out of the shower wrapped in the tiny, plush towel. “All my model friends warned me that you were a pig, Bruce, but I never believed them until right now!” 

“Why does everyone keep calling me Bruce? Do I look like a Bruce to you?” asked Dean, peering over at the mirror above the sink. Nope, he still looked the same. 

“Is that supposed to be a trick question?” asked the brunette, a pucker appearing between her eyebrows as she stared at him in great confusion. 

“I’m just saying, my name is definitely not Bruce. I guess if you mean that I remind you of Bruce Campbell, I accept,” said Dean, wondering what it would feel like to have a chainsaw for an arm. When his gaze drifted back to the woman standing in front of him he momentarily forgot all about his brother. Her heart-shaped face, long honey-tanned legs, and her sparkling hazel eyes were quite a distraction. “In fact, you, sweetheart, can call me anything you’d like.” 

“You are just so confusing, Bruce! I don’t ever know what you’re talking about, and right now I really don’t care. I thought we had something special last night when you brought me home, but obviously you didn’t feel the same way,” snapped the woman, whose cheeks grew pink as she screamed at him. 

“I’m trying to tell you that my name’s not Bruce, and I have no clue who you are!” said Dean loudly into the foggy room. 

“What? You don’t remember last night at all?” asked the brunette, who looked on the verge of tears. “But we danced, and I was sure that you were half in love with me by the time we got into your car after the fundraiser. I just knew we would be married within a few short months. Bruce, you really must be kidding. Surely you couldn’t forget the undeniable connection we had from the moment we met!” 

As she finished her speech, the woman crept closer and grabbed his arms in her surprisingly strong hands. Her eyes widened and she stared up at him, almost as if she was trying to implore him to love her with her steady gaze alone. Witch, Dean thought. She must be a witch, and somehow she lured me here. She must have used a love potion to get me. She is hot, but clearly she’s a whole assortment of nuts. Dean pulled out of her grasp and backed up a few steps before he spoke again.

“Sister, as far as I’m concerned I’ve never seen you before in my life. And as much as I’d like to stay and chat, I really have to find my brother.” Dean stalked out of the bathroom, shaking the crazy off as he ignored the sound of obnoxious fake sobbing that followed him into the bedroom. 

“I hate you Bruce Wayne. Don’t you ever speak to me again!” screamed the brunette as he shut the door to the bedroom behind him. 

Wait! Did she just say Bruce Wayne? Dean paused on the other side of the door to the bedroom he had woken in, feeling a startling combination of hope and confusion. It couldn’t be, it just couldn’t be. He had woken up in a lot of really weird situations, but he had never gotten the chance to live out his boyhood fantasy. Most of the time he woke up somewhere odd it ended up being really lame, like when he and Sam ended up in that Dr. Sexy, M.D. show. That show was lame to being with, though. Dean certainly didn’t like it and would never watch it on his own. Never. 

But Batman? Batman was never lame! Batman was, well, Batman! And if Dean was Batman…no, it wasn’t possible. He shouldn’t get his hopes up. He would just stroll casually down to the dining room and demand the name of the amused British man who spoke through the intercom. Oh, and he would ask about his brother, too. And about the Batmobile, oh why had it taken him so long to think about the Batmobile! He imagined himself driving it down the street in the Bat suit. Just a quick joy ride and then he would get back to trying to find his brother. Surely Sam couldn’t fault him for that! It was the Batmobile!

Dean raced down the stairs, made eager by the promise of handling a sleek black dream of a ride. He barely paid any attention to the décor of the rooms he passed as he made his way to the dining room, he was so absorbed in his fantasy. When he stopped in front of the solid oak, massively long dining room table, he noticed an old man in a suit standing at the far end of the room and flipping through a newspaper. 

“Ah, Master Bruce. I see you’ve finally stepped foot out of bed. And my, my, I see you didn’t shower or dress. An inspired decision,” said the old man, his eyes wrinkled in amusement as he teased Dean. Dean took in the man’s sweetly wrinkled face, his deep blue eyes, and his cheery, teasing smile. He certainly could pass for Alfred Pennyworth any day. 

“Alfred?” said Dean, narrowing his eyes at the old man.

“Well there’s no reason to look at me as if I’ve just poisoned your coffee, Master Wayne. You really are far too serious for your own good. It’s just a bit of harmless teasing,” said the man, shaking his head as he poured steaming coffee from a French press into a black coffee mug and passed it over to him. Dean accepted the coffee gratefully, thankful for anything that might assure him this was all real. 

“So you really are Alfred Pennyworth. And you just called me Master Wayne, which must mean that I’m Bruce Wayne,” said Dean, getting more and more excited as he continued to talk, “which means that I am BATMAN!” Dean shouted the last part, and Alfred flinched.

“Mind saying that a bit louder, Master Wayne, I don’t think the villains in the far reaches of Gotham City heard you,” quipped Alfred. 

“Oh, right. Secret identity. Sorry about that, you just don’t know how long I’ve dreamt of being Batman!” Dean chuckled to himself, rubbing his chin absent-mindedly. He knew there was probably some really messed up reason that he was now Batman, but he wanted to enjoy living out his fantasy for a few moments before everything went to hell. And thinking about living out his fantasy reminded him of something very important. “Hey, Alfred, do you know what this means? I have a Batmobile! I am Batman and I have a Batmobile just waiting for me to drive it!” said Dean. 

“Are you quite alright Master Bruce? Did that crazy woman you brought home last night slip you something in your sleep?” Alfred asked, peering at Dean with concern. “You’re not at all yourself this morning.” 

“Sorry, Alfred, it’s been a weird morning, but I’m fine. Listen, I’m just going to take a few pieces of toast and head down to the Batcave. I’ve got a lot to do,” said Dean, snatching a few pieces of dry toast off of a plate in front of him and shoving one into his mouth as he exited the room. 

“Wouldn’t it help, Master Wayne, if you went in the direction of the Batcave?” asked Alfred, raising one of his eyebrows at Dean. 

“Oh, right, of course. I just, ah, wanted to go the long way, you know, get some exercise,” said Dean. Even as the words left his mouth he realized that they sounded incredibly stupid. But he put as much confidence into what he was saying, knowing that he could out-BS anyone on the planet. 

“Right. If I didn’t know any better, I would say that there’s someone else running around inside your body this morning, Master Wayne,” said Alfred, peering closely at Dean as he shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot. 

“Do you realize how crazy you sound, Alfred? I mean, at this point you could give the Joker a run for his money. Do I need to drop you off at Arkham?” joked Dean, shoving his hands in the pockets of his shorts to cover the way they were shaking. He needed to commit to the cover-up in order to sell it. Dean wasn’t sure if it would be better to come clean to Alfred right now or to wait it out and play Bruce Wayne for a while, but he chose the former because it meant he could get to the Batmobile that much quicker. 

“Now I know there’s something the matter. Did you just try to tell a joke? Are you delirious? Do you need to lie down?” asked Alfred. 

“I’m fine, Alfred. I’m headed to the Batcave. See you later,” said Dean, hurrying in the opposite direction from the way he started off a few moments before. Whew, Dean would need to be careful if he wanted to keep his secret. Alfred was definitely far too perceptive to make it easy to pretend to be the real Bruce Wayne. 

“I guess it’s up to me to take out the trash, then. Don’t worry, Master Bruce, I’ll make sure she doesn’t steal anything as she leaves,” Alfred called as he walked up the stairs. 

Dean continued down the hallway, wondering how, exactly, he was going to find the secret Batcave.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed my first little chapter! The next chapters will definitely be a lot longer; this is just a little prologue to get the story going. As you can see, it is set during the 8th season because I am attempting to improve it and give Dean more story! Let me know what you think!


End file.
